Ponder
by Airiblu
Summary: Sometimes, being ill isn't nearly as bad as one would assume. Oneshot, possible future two-shot.


**I just thought I'd offer something to the fandom where I first began reading fanfiction. I quit because I kept seeing plots used over and over and over, with too many OCs and little character development. Anyways, onward with the story. **

**It's a one-shot; set a few years into the future. (I'm just going to go with "Amu is 16".) Amuto. (Man, was I hardcore fan of these two back then. Still sort of am. Favorite. Pairing. **_**Ever**_**.) I hope you enjoy this one-shot written in between cramming for a math test. A-ha! I did find the time to write. Now I feel bad for putting my two other stories on hiatus; writing something else two days afterwards.**

**Summary: Sometimes, being ill isn't nearly as bad as one would assume.**

**...**

Amu was sick with something that wasn't quite a flu.

Her head thrumming; a distant pain throbbing at the back of her skull, her throat raw and sore from bouts of coughing.

More than anything, she hated the feeling of helplessness that came with being ill.

Tucked in her sheets, she sighed, and cracked open an eye once more. To her dismay, the ceiling fan and ceiling swam together, melding into a cream blur. Looking around, her desk, chair, and carpet all began to lack definition and blended into a forest of colors. She shut her eyes, her head beginning to drum beats of pain again.

Her mouth was dry, but she was far too exhausted to sit up and reach for the quarter-empty glass sitting just inches from her. Turning on her bed, she tried to ignore the persisting thirst lingering in her throat. She ached for that water.

Burrowing deeper into the layers of quilts, she nestled in the warmth it offered. She gulped a few times, beckoning for the dreams to come. They didn't.

The mind tends to wander during times like these.

So, Amu thought. She thought and she reflected.

It had been three years since the end of her elementary school days…she'd grown older— arguably wiser, but older. She'd went through middle school—it went by in a blur—and began high school. She remained close to all her friends during her elementary school years. They hadn't changed. Much.

Nikaidou and Yukari were still happily married, and expecting their first child, a boy. Kairi had devoured the library on books concerning taking care of a newborn baby—one would almost be persuaded to think _he_ was the expecting mother.

Yaya remained cheerful, eager, peppy and unwilling to mature—too much. She never wanted to admit she'd grown up, both as a person and physically.

Remarkably, Rima and Nagihiko had hit it off during the second year of middle school; still rivals to the end. Theirs was a strange sort of love. Frequently, they'd hold hands and debate topics ranging from who was really Amu's best friend to what flavor ice cream they would be having on their next date.

Amu often wondered how they managed.

Her feelings for Tadase eventually ebbed away, but they remained close friends. Their relationship became something like a comfortable glove—warm and familiar.

Utau was still as stubborn as ever, but with Kukai around she managed something close to being _pleasant_ around Amu. She'd taken the world by storm with her songs, her voice, and her passion. Though Amu's pride wouldn't allow her to admit it, she looked up to the singer as a role model. A role model with a stubborn streak to match hers, but one nonetheless.

Amu smiled at the memory at their last encounter—it involved several bowls of ramen and a near one-sided argument over whose Ikuto was.

_Ikuto_.

Amu didn't know where to begin.

_Ikuto, Ikuto, Ikuto_.

Well, he'd grown a little taller. His hair was a bit longer.

In short, he'd changed, just as she had.

But to her, he was still the same Ikuto she'd always known (and grudgingly loved). A tad mysterious, mischievous and fickle, but also at the same time full of kindness and acceptance. Not to mention, he still enjoyed the frequent invasion of her personal space.

But some things changed. He'd renewed his relationship with his father—and had become noticeably happier, carrying that joy in a warm glow. Perhaps it was because his family was whole again. He'd been scouted by orchestras from all over, offering for him to be an honorary soloist; praising his talent, joking he was going to beat his old man. He'd won awards, a whole shelf worth of glistening plaques and trophies. He'd pursued his dreams. He'd gone far.

But he'd waited for Amu, just like he promised.

And she was almost ready to finally, _finally_ let him stop waiting.

She didn't know when her feelings began; much less knew it when they began to grow—until they became unwilling to be contained, thrashing around until her heart became unbearably loud in her ears; cheeks warming whenever she caught so much as a glimpse of anyone that resembled him. She was terrified some other girl would win his heart; there _was_ a beautiful, talented violinist in one of the orchestras he played for that seemed to have a keen interest in him. Amu had spotted them once chatting companionably before performance, and her heart had wrenched painfully at the sight. She'd smiled bravely that day, shoving away the green-eyed monster.

The thought of the him being together with anyone else was almost too much for her to handle.

At times, when it was just the two of them, she wanted to smack herself for being so graceless—for being herself. She'd wonder if she was dressed pretty enough, whether or not her new hairstyle suited her; things she'd never really thought about previously. She'd often analyze and re-analyze her actions over and over while they were together, and groaned at her utter lack of charm.

Why did she have to stutter so much?

Why couldn't she, for once, leave the "shut up's" out of their conversations?

Why couldn't she remember how to just _act natural_?

Ikuto didn't seem to be experiencing any of the problems she was struggling with; acting like he'd always had whenever they were together. He'd tease her, tackle her, cuddle her, and play compositions he'd written for her.

Most of the time it was the first three, usually all at once.

The last one was embarrassing, heartwarming, and always resulted in steaming and red-faced Amu. But the songs were always stunned her—she felt underserving of such kindness and beauty. She wished she had something to give in return.

There were times where she wanted to tell him. Tell him she loved him. Thank him for all he had done. Pour her feelings, her heart, her deepest thoughts to him.

_She needed to tell him_. She had never needed to do something so urgently in her life.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs cut through her thoughts, and Amu stiffened. Her bedroom door swung open, and there was a bout of hushed whispering.

"She's asleep," her mother whispered, "But you can stay if you want, Ikuto-kun."

Oh, lord. Amu's stomach flipped. Where did that sense of urgency go?

"I will, Hinamori-san."

"Aww, I'm sure Amu would appreciate that," her mother replied, voice laced with undeniable glee, "Even if her father doesn't," she added.

Her bedroom door clicked shut, leaving Amu in the room. _Alone with Ikuto_. She broke into a nervous sweat. Should she open her eyes? Should she feign sleep? What should she—

A cool hand found its way onto her forehead, then she heard a small breath of relief. The hand then moved upwards, stroking her hair gently, smoothing the matted clumps away from her face.

For the first time since she had become ill, Amu was completely, utterly, unreasonably at ease.

She gradually opened her eyes, finding the need to see his face.

And he was there.

Ikuto.

His eyes met hers.

"Yo."

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry.

She didn't answer. Instead, she took his hand, removing it from the her head. Their hands intertwined, his long, musician's fingers gripping her smaller digits. She tried to keep her face from going red at her bold actions.

Ikuto looked slightly astounded, but recovered quickly.

"How do you feel?"

"Before or after you showed up?" Amu was all of a sudden feeling cheeky.

He smiled. "Both."

"Fine." Her short, terse answer. A brief pause. "Now, anyway."

"Nice to hear," he answered lightly, disguising his relief.

He was leaning so close Amu could smell him. Wood, rosin—probably from his violin—and sweet peppermint. Warm. She gripped his hand tighter.

"Hey, Ikuto."

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

That was it. She said it. It was neither the right time, place, or situation to say anything of the sort, but she wanted to. She needed to let him know, before it was too late.

Ikuto's mouth quirked up in a half smile. She wanted to kiss that mouth.

"What took you so long?"

Exasperation, relief, and elation flooded her.

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to hug him.

She loved him _so much_.

...

**Thoughts? I'm thinking about making this into a two-shot. So there's more fluff, since this is obviously lacking in that area. Somehow, it took a somewhat angsty turn at the middle. Eh. =.= Anyway, if they're OOC, then my deepest apologies. I was trying to show that Amu matured. And stuff. **

**ANYWAY.**

**SO HOW WAS IT? GOOD? SO-SO? UTTERLY DISASTROUS, WITH TERRIBLE WRITING? TURN YOUR OPINION INTO A REVIEW~**

**NOW, TO DO MY HOMEWORK. (By the way, listening to Olivia Lufkin is awesome when brainstorming. Her songs are **_**amazing**_**.** **できない****I, Color of Your Spoon, and A Little Pain especially. You can search her up on Youtube.) **


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